


Nothing's More Real

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode Related, Established Relationship, F/M, Fic, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-15 16:12:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Was there any way he could get through to Neal, if he hadn't after all this time?</p><p>Episode tag for 2.13.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing's More Real

Peter knocked on Neal's door, then pushed it open without waiting for a reply. Neal stood by the French doors, looking out. His shirt was open at the throat, the sleeves rolled up despite the cool evening, and he was holding a glass of red wine. He turned, a smile lighting his face. "Peter."

"What happened to the plate?"

Neal froze. The smile was still there, his stance still casual, but it was a counterfeit welcome now, the warmth replaced with a faint wariness. "The FBI didn't recover the plate?"

"ERT logged all the other equipment, but the plate was missing." Peter got himself under control, tamping down disappointment until he was sure. Maybe, despite the odds and indications, Neal hadn't misappropriated it. There might still be another explanation. "Did Ford take it?"

Neal swirled the wine in his glass thoughtfully. "He certainly had opportunity. It would have fit in his suitcase."

"Neal." Peter sighed. He took off his jacket and dropped it on the back of the couch, loosened his tie and went over to snag Neal's glass. The wine was rich, dry and faintly spicy, and probably Peter couldn't appreciate its subtleties, but it brought him into Neal's personal space. He appreciated that more than was good for either of them. "Where's the plate?"

Neal's eyes clouded and his hand clenched at his side. He took the glass back and put it on the table, and then thrust his fists into his pockets. He was standing side-on to Peter now, apparently unable to face him. "I may be able to lay my hands on it," he said with obvious reluctance. Peter touched his shoulder, and Neal twitched. "I'll get it for you."

"Dammit, Neal," said Peter, more tired than angry. "You put it back in Byron's coffee table, didn't you?"

Neal cast him a sideways look, a kaleidoscope of desperation, resentment and desire, and for a moment Peter thought they were about to hug, maybe even fuck, but Neal held back. "You could have checked for yourself."

Peter weighed up whether to give Neal a taste of his own prevarication, but it wasn't Peter's style. "June wouldn't consent to a search," he said, "and I couldn't apply for a warrant without—"

"—putting me under suspicion," Neal finished. His armor cracked. "Peter, I'm sorry."

Peter believed him, not that it made much difference in the long run. "I can't be your conscience, Neal. Not if we're doing this."

This. This thing between the two of them and Elizabeth, which had sprung out of nowhere—out of a year of testing each other and a long night of confessions—and which could now threaten everything else that Peter held dear. He should put a stop to it. If he were a stronger man—and if it wouldn't break Elizabeth's heart—he would.

"I know." Neal moved as if to rest his head on Peter's shoulder, but Peter held him off.

"I don't think you do." Peter took a deep breath. Was there any way he could get through to Neal, if he hadn't after all this time? He went to the sink and poured himself a glass of water, raising his voice despite his best intentions. "What was the plan? You were going to wait a couple of months and then you and Mozzie would succeed where Ford failed?"

"No!" Neal sounded angry at the idea. That was something.

But it wasn't enough. Peter started to pace. "You hid criminal evidence in June's house. You put me in an untenable position. This is the kind of thing I have nightmares about, Neal, and you don't seem to—"

"I do," Neal stepped into Peter's path and stood his ground, forcing Peter to halt. To listen. "I get it. I'm sorry."

There was a cough from the doorway, and they both turned, startled.

Elizabeth was leaning against the doorframe, watching them, eyes wide, arms folded across her red blouse. She smiled, her mouth tucking down at the corners. "I was visiting June, and I heard you guys—"

Peter glanced at Neal. "What about Elizabeth? Are you going to apologize to her too?"

"Honey—" Elizabeth shook her head at Peter. She walked over to them and put her hand on Neal's arm. "Were you planning to make counterfeit bills, Neal?"

"No." Neal's eyes softened when he looked at her.

She tilted her head and studied him openly. "Then I can only think of two reasons why you might have taken the plate: insurance or sabotage. Are you trying to sabotage your relationship with us?"

"Of course not!" Neal glanced from her to Peter and back again. "You can't think that!"

El raised her eyebrows. "It's Peter's job to make sure you don't break the law, and that includes removing evidence from a crime scene."

"Thank you," said Peter, throwing his hand into the air, relieved she could see his side of the situation.

"I'm not trying to undermine what we have," said Neal, low and intense. "I would never."

El nodded. "So it was insurance."

"The last big score." Neal gave a small apologetic shrug. "Just in case."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, pulled him into her arms and tugged him down for a kiss. "You don't need a backup plan," she murmured. "Trust me."

As always, Peter was captured by the sight of them, drawn forward almost despite himself. "You don't," he echoed, and leaned in to kiss first El, then Neal. His partners, his loves. Neal kissed back fervently, as if he were only just realizing how much he had to lose.

When he pulled back, he looked almost scared. "You don't know that."

Peter clasped his neck and met his gaze, letting his love show. "Twelve years I've known this woman, she's never steered me wrong."

He could feel the moment Neal believed him, the tense muscles relaxing under Peter's hand.

"She is smarter than both of us," Neal agreed solemnly.

Elizabeth elbowed him in the ribs and grinned when he bent to kiss her again, but she stopped him before they got too carried away. "Come on. June's expecting us for a quiet supper. She needs distracting."

Neal smoothed her hair back from her face, and then turned and gave Peter a fierce hug, nothing like his usual polished embrace. "Poker is a good distraction," he said at last. "June likes poker."

Peter breathed a laugh and said, "Sure, fine. You give me back the plate, free of any incriminating Neal Caffrey fingerprints, and I'll let you take me to the cleaners at poker."

"Big talk," said Elizabeth, grinning up at both of them. "I think June and I can give you a run for your money." Her grin turned rueful. "Well, June, anyway. I was never very good at bluffing."

"Show some cleavage," suggested Neal helpfully. "That would be a highly effective way to distract your opponents."

Peter shook his head. They were incorrigible, both of them. Of course, he'd known that going in. It was worth it.


End file.
